No More
by Planetary.Hitchhiker
Summary: Harry and Draco are mortal enemies; at the end of 5th year they part ways, thinking that nothing could make them quite so happy as being free of one another. When circumstances change, though, people can change too. A Drarry fic, if you haven't guessed :)
1. Chapter 1

Green eyes locked with silver, a few feet apart on the crowded platform. Harry and Draco wore identical looks of hatred, though Draco's lips were curled into a smirk while Harry's were set in a firm scowl. "See you next year, Potter." Draco said, spitting Harry's name as though it was a rather unpleasant swear, "Have fun this Summer." Harry didn't dignify the hateful remark with a response, as he knew that Draco was only trying to bait him. He knew full and well that Harry's Summers were less than pleasant... Though he doubted Draco knew the extent to which that was true.

He turned away from his enemy and boarded the long scarlet train that would carry him straight from home to Hell with his mouth set in a frown, his eyes still alight with anger. He didn't speak, nor did this unpleasant expression change, until he sat down in a compartment opposite Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Hermione's amused expression at whatever Ron had been saying immediately changed to one of concern. "Harry, what's the matter?" She asked worriedly. Harry let out a defeated sigh and his look of anger softened to one of complete and utter depression.

"Nothing." He responded flatly. Hermione and Ron exchanged a skeptical look, as obviously, something was bothering him.

"If you're hacked off about going back to your Aunt and Uncle," Ron said, trying to speak in an uplifting tone, "remember you're free to stay with me instead. I think mum gets more disappointed every year you don't show up on our doorstep." Harry managed a small smile at that; Ron was right, of course. Molly wanted him to stay, and he knew he should have accepted the offer... However, he couldn't bring himself to do so in past years. He didn't want to put them in unnecessary danger, and danger seemed to follow him closer than his own shadow. He couldn't do that to them... It was only recently that Sirius had died coming to his rescue, and he couldn't bear the thought of anything like that happening again.

"Thanks for the offer, mate, but I can survive at the Dursley's." He promised, "I've just had a little run-in with Malfoy, that's all." Hermione sighed in exasperation.

"Harry, I've told you a million times that it's positively imbecilic to let him get to you this way." She sighed. Harry shrugged.

"I know," He deadpanned, "but it's not like I can help it." Hermione opened her mouth to counter, but Harry cut her off. "Drop it, Hermione." He said, "I'm fine." Hermione sighed, but nodded her acceptance.

After a few moments of slightly uncomfortable silence, Ron resumed the conversation he and Hermione had been having before Harry arrived. The rest of the train ride passed with Harry slowly coming out of his bout of depression, and after the Witch came by pushing the trolley, with everyone eating sweets to their hearts' content. By the time the scarlet steam engine pulled into Platform Nine and Three Quarters, all three passengers of the compartment were substantially more cheerful than when they'd boarded. They'd chatted the ride away, and now, for Hermione and Ron, they were headed home.

When they were free of Platform Nine and Three Quarters and instead stood in the middle of Kings Cross station, Ron was immediately swept into the waiting arms of his mother, and Hermione was pulled into a bone-crushing hug by her father. Harry bid them a forcefully cheerful farewell and apologized to Mrs. Weasley for his ongoing refusal to accept her offer of staying at the Burrow over the Summer, before making his way out to where he knew Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were waiting. As he walked, he tried to think of positive things... At least, over the Summer, he didn't have to see Malfoy. He didn't have to see the blond strutting about the school as if he owned it, sucking up to Snape and snickering behind his back. At least for a few months, no more of that stupid twat Malfoy.

Harry hesitated for a moment outside the car, under the harsh glare of his Uncle. "Well, get in the car, boy." Vernon snapped; without giving Harry a chance to comply to that order, he grabbed Harry's upper arm in a bruising grip and thrust him forcefully into the car. Dudley snickered, though not looking up from his hand-held game. Harry's good mood was a thing of the past; as the car started driving back towards Privet Drive, he sank into his usual Summer depression.

Draco Malfoy stepped through the bricks into Kings Cross Station with his usual air of confidence. He was quite looking forward to the Summer... No classes or homework, no waking up at ungodly hours of the morning, and no Potter. He wouldn't have to see Harry Potter walking about the school in a huddle with his friends, acting as though he was some sort of saint. On the downside, he wouldn't get to see the stupid git having potions blow up in his face all the time, nor would he have the pleasure of seeing the humiliated look on his face as Snape deducted points and the other Gryffindors glared at the all-mighty-boy-who-lived in a rare show of dislike. Stupid Potter.

He pushed thoughts of the brunette from his head as he walked over to his mother and gave her a quick hug in greeting. He and his father exchanged just a small nod before the family of three left the station and disapperated to their large home. Once there, Draco immediately vanished to his bedroom, where he clumsily removed his tie and unbuttoned his shirt before collapsing on the bed. He tangled his fingers in his hair until it was sufficiently mussed. Now it was officially Summer, where in the confinement of his bedroom, his pale pointed features softened and he didn't have to think about anything.


	2. Chapter 2

The weeks that ensued were not unlike any previous Summers of Harry's. He kept himself holed up in his room most of the time, coming downstairs for food only after the Dursleys were long asleep. He couldn't be visible to them at any time... If he had his way, they wouldn't even know he was there. He let Hedwig out at night, writing letters to Ron and Hermione assuring them that everything was fine. Even he'd admit that he was a liar in that sense, though... Bruises on his arms, torso and face were evidence of the times he didn't manage to avoid his uncle or his cousin, proof that everything was certainly not fine. For the most part, he just asked them how their Summers were going... Sometimes they asked too many questions and he had to change the topic. It was all rather depressing, and the time spent at 4 Privet Drive ticked away painfully slow.

There were only two things similar about Draco's Summer; one, it was in no way dissimilar to any Summer since starting Hogwarts. Two, he spent as much time as he could in his room with the door locked. When he didn't have appearances to keep up, he allowed his light hair to fall in whatever way it pleased, which quite often, was in his face. He typically wore black sweat pants and a loose-fitting Zonko's t-shirt to lounge about in. On the occasion that he had to go anywhere, he smoothed his hair back and wore a nicely pressed suit with a matching scowl. After all, he had appearances to keep up.

It wasn't until about a month into the Summer that things changed, and quite drastically at that; around 2 A.M, Harry was having a bowl of cereal after sending Hedwig off with a letter to Ron. The Dursley's were asleep, the only sounds in the house that of the men snoring and the spoon lightly tapping the bowl when Harry took a bite of his cereal. That was, until he heard the lock of the front door click. Immediately alarmed, Harry put the bowl down and got up, grabbing his wand and creeping cautiously to his bedroom door and pressing his ear against it. He heard footsteps, at least two sets... Swallowing his fear, he opened the door as quietly as he could and began creeping down the hallway, barely daring to breath.

That was, until he heard voices. It would have been alarming, had it not been two voices he recognized quite easily. He crept into the kitchen, and was greeted by the sight of Arthur Weasley leaning over the Dursleys' microwave, examining from just about every possible angle, and Ron leaning against the counter looking exasperated with his father. "Dad, we're here to get Harry," He sighed, "not mess around with muggle junk." Harry remained hidden around the corner, his mind working quickly. Ron and Mr. Weasley were there... And they were there to get him, no less. Why though? Naturally, they'd want to get him away from the Dursley's, even without knowing the extent of their abusive treatment, but if that was the case, why hadn't they come in earlier years? Perhaps, he considered, Molly had finally decided that, whether Harry liked it or not, he was coming to stay with them. If that was the case, it wouldn't be terribly surprising.

He knew he couldn't stand there in the shadows thinking about this for much longer... So, he supposed to cover up his injuries he'd just tell Ron he got in a fight. That was believable... A fight with Dudley. It wouldn't be very surprising, with how much the pair hated one another. So, he stepped into the doorway of the kitchen and cleared his throat as quietly as he could. "Ron," he said, listening as he spoke to make sure the Dursleys were still asleep, "what are you doing here?" Arthur grinned widely as he looked over at Harry, pulling the scruffy-looking boy into a hug without noticing his injuries. Harry coughed awkwardly, and Arthur released him.

"Right, right." The man said, mostly to himself, "Well you see, I think Molly was going to come get you herself if you resisted any longer, so-" He stopped though, finally noticing Harry's state. "My dear boy, what happened?" He asked, looking concerned. Harry shrugged casually.

"Nothing." He lied, though he hated to do so, "Got in a fight with Dudley. So we're going to the Burrow then?" Ron nodded and started towards the stairs, taking them two at the time. Harry followed after quickly.

"Yeah," he replied quietly, "I'll help you pack. Where's your room?" Harry pointed to his door, and Ron slipped inside and began tossing clothes messily into Harry's trunk atop a mess of broken quills, candy-wrappers, and odds-and-ends from Zonkos. Harry grabbed his robes and tossed them in the trunk haphazardly, along with some parchment and a quill and anything else he saw fit in the moment.

"My broom is locked up." He remembered suddenly, just as they were closing the trunk. Ron shrugged.

"My dad can get it." He said, setting Hedwig's cage on top of the trunk, "And he can just send this to our house, no need for us to lug it downstairs." Harry nodded, and as if cued by their conversation, Arthur appeared in the doorway.

"Need some help boys?" He asked, taking out his wand. Both teens nodded, so Arthur gave his wand a quick wave and Harry's trunk vanished, re-appearing in Ron's room at the Burrow. "Where's your broomstick, Harry?" He asked.

"Downstairs, locked up in the cupboard." Harry responded. Arthur nodded and headed downstairs with the two boys on his heels. He made quick work of retrieving Harry's broom, which then joined his trunk and Hedwig's cage at the burrow.

"Shall we go, then?" Arthur asked, holding his arms out for Harry and Ron to take so they could apparate. With a crack, they were gone, standing in the living room of the tall, crooked house. Harry couldn't help but smile, as he always did when he arrived there.

"You'll have to excuse the mess, Harry." Arthur said apologetically, tossing his jacket on the table and adding to the clutter. Harry shrugged, smiling widely.

"Don't worry, it's brilliant."

* * *

Draco lazily picked up an apple from a basket of fruits on the counter, taking a rather large bite with his other arm buried in the pocket of his sweat pants. His hair was a bit darker in color than usual, hanging messily to his ears as he'd been neglecting allowing his mother to cut it. To be honest, it felt nice... He felt almost worry-free, and that wasn't something that was common for him. He wasn't thinking of the event that was quickly impending...

Shortly before, his mother and father had informed him that, before the Summer was up, he would become a Death Eater and have the dark mark burned into his arm. Contrary to what his parents had been hoping, Draco wasn't terribly happy about that... His parents could do whatever they liked, but Draco didn't want to be on the front lines. Since Draco had told them that, they'd been rather cold towards him... He was used to that from his father, but it felt odd to have his mother giving him those looks.

He sighed as he started back towards his room, only to be interrupted by a house elf appearing in front of him with a loud snap. "Master Malfoy," the elf said, bowing low, "your parents require your presence in your father's study." Draco sighed, nodding. He knew what this was about. So, he turned and headed towards his father's study, trying to finish off as much of his apple as he could before getting there. He entered the room after a quick knock, to find both of his parents sitting behind the large, curved desk and looking at him seriously.

"Draco." His father said, standing. Draco nodded his greeting, trying to look a bit more dignified at that point.

"Father." He greeted, "What did you need to speak to me about?" Both the adults in the room exchanged a glance before Narcissa stood as well.

"We think," She began, "that it's time for you to begin working alongside your father." Draco sighed, shaking his head; Narcissa had tried to sugarcoat it, but that didn't make the idea any more appealing to Draco.

"I've already told you," he said evenly, "at this time, I don't want to be on the front lines of the war. Besides, I can't go to school with the mark on my arm for anyone to see." Lucius glared at Draco and approached him slowly, and Draco backed away as far as the wall would allow, a sense of fear beginning to settle in.

"Draco," He said, his voice laced with anger, "this isn't your decision, and I don't want to hear any further complaints on the subject. Now," he held out his hand for Draco then, his eyes glinting angrily, daring Draco to refuse, "come with me." Draco hesitated; he really didn't want this... He didn't know what his father would do if he continued to resist, though. Was he only delaying the inevitable? He started to reach out so they could apparate, but stopped, and shook his head.

"No," He decided aloud, "I don't want this." He stood up straight and looked dignified, appearing confident even though he wasn't. It was Summer... The one time Draco could do what he wanted. He didn't want to let his parents pressure or threaten him into this... He didn't want to be in that kind of position, and he knew the news that he had the dark mark would spread through the school like wild fire. He didn't need that. The look Lucius gave him then was enough to send him running for the hills, but he held his ground... Even when the man reached forward and grabbed him by his upper arms, holding him tightly.

"Draco," He hissed furiously, "you don't have a choice in this. If you continue to defy me, you'll be on the streets. I'll personally see to it that you have _nothing._" Draco felt as though his father's glare was literally slicing through him, and he could feel the circulation in his arms being cut off. He didn't know what to do... He didn't like either of the options being presented to him. It was tearing him apart... He couldn't bring himself to agree to being a Death Eater, though he wasn't sure why. He'd always known that was his fate, hadn't he? And yet, the thought was terrifying. He couldn't do it. The alternative, though, was living on the streets... He knew his father wouldn't give him a cent to live on, nor a moment to get any clothes. At least he had his wand on him.

"I'm sorry, father." Draco whispered, his body trembling all over with the weight of what he was doing, "I can't agree to what you require of me." Lucius momentarily tightened his grip on Draco's arms, before thrusting him back against the wall.

"You're no son of mine." He hissed. He lifted his hand and a moment later, Draco felt his fist hit his cheek. Stars popped up in his vision and his head gave a painful throb as it hit the wall. He looked up and cold vaguely register that Lucius was about to hit him again... Despite his emotional turmoil and disorientation, he somehow managed to scramble out of the way and out the door. He ran, stumbling the whole way, out the front door of the manor.

He stopped outside the gates, breathing heavily and trying to sort through everything. He was still seeing double, his head was hurting, and he could feel blood dripping down his cheek thanks to the force of Lucius' blow and his ring, along with a small trickle of blood on the back of his head. He was officially on the streets... He had nowhere to go, no money, and on top of everything, it was pouring rain. Lighting split the sky at the same moment thunder boomed across the town, and Draco could feel the stress of it all catching up with him. Tears began to slide down his cheeks, a sense of hopelessness overcoming him. He crossed his arms over his stomach and started walking to nowhere in particular, his long hair plastered against his head and his clothes sticking to his skin, slowly staining with blood.

Somehow, he ended up downtown among tall, menacing-looking buildings. When he tired of walking, he slid to the ground in a rather dingy alley, feeling completely and utterly defeated. He supposed he'd have to sleep here... He had no money for a hotel of any quality and he had nowhere to go. No family would take him after this.

And then, a thought struck him. It was crazy, impossible, it would never work... He knew that. And yet, there was just one person Draco cold think of, one person he could possibly go to... Maybe it was possible that he was as kind as everyone said... And if not him, surely that family that seemed so important to him could help somehow. He hated what he was about to do... It went against every fiber of his being, but it had to be done. So, he swallowed hard and apparated away. (He might not have been of age, but rules were easily bent when you were a Malfoy... Not that he really was anymore.)

He appeared in the mud just as lighting struck in the surrounding field and thunder rolled. It was raining here too... How wonderful. The only warmth was blood still flowing down his cheek, though it wasn't as bad as it had been earlier... He looked an absolute nightmare, though, with blood dripping down his face and onto his shirt, eyes red from crying and shivering all over. It may have been Summer, but the rain was freezing him to the bone. He felt like a drowned rat. However, he mustered up all his remaining energy and walked past a light blue Ford Anglia, his bare feet leaving prints in the mud that were washed away by rain just a few seconds later. Finally, humiliated to no end and on the brink of unconsciousness, he lifted his hand and knocked on the door of the tall, crooked house.


	3. Chapter 3

**(( So I'd like to take a moment to thank everyone who is reading this :) It really means a lot to me :D There are some really amazing writers on this site, so the fact that anyone is reading this is really great :) And a thanks to everyone who reviewed! It's good to know people are interested enough to take a moment and encourage me to keep writing :) ))**

Ginny's eyes flickered open as she heard a knock on the front door. The red-head moaned tiredly, wondering who on earth could be there at that hour of the night... And in the pouring rain, no less! She sighed as she got up and put a robe on over her pajamas, tucking her wand in her pocket just in case. After all, this was rather suspicious, was it not? Harry had only been there for a day, but it wasn't that crazy to wonder if someone from the ministry- or worse- had found out.

She crept downstairs, though she didn't need to sneak much because the sound of the rain and thunder sufficiently drowned out the sound of her footsteps. When she reached the door, she could barely make out the figure through the window... She saw a splash of blood on his cheek, though, so she immediately threw the door open. She gasped when she recognized the boy on her doorstep; drenched to the bone and shivering violently, blood dripping down his face, red-eyed as though he'd been crying, was Draco Malfoy. "Malfoy," She said softly, wondering if she should let him in, "what in Merlin's name are you doing here?" Draco didn't answer; instead, he swayed on his feet, and a moment later, he was face-down on the floor of the Weasley's living room.

Ginny sighed, reaching down and pulling him forward a bit and closing the door. She didn't know what to do now... Draco Malfoy was unconscious and injured on her floor, and she had no idea how he'd come to be in this state. Before she could think any further about that, she heard someone else coming downstairs, and turned to see her parents rustling into the room. Molly's eyes were round in shock.

"Ginny!" She exclaimed, looking at the boy on the floor disbelievingly, "What happened?" Ginny shook her head, wishing she knew the answer to that herself.

"I don't exactly know." She admitted, "I heard someone knocking, so I came downstairs... When I opened the door he passed out." Arthur and Molly exchanged a indecisive look, before Molly cleared her throat and looked down at Draco.

"Well, we'll have to figure out what happened when he wakes up." she decided, "Until then, he can sleep on the couch." She looked over at Arthur, who nodded before leaning down and picking Draco up. Ginny looked at her mother in exasperation while Arthur was looking for a blanket for him.

"Mum, you know that's Draco Malfoy, right?" She asked; surely there was a better solution to this than to have Malfoy sleeping on their couch... Sure, something about him certainly did seem different, but that wasn't enough for Ginny to trust him. Five years of dealing with his arrogance was certainly enough to build up a lot of intense dislike. Molly, however, wouldn't hear a word of it.

"I know," she responded, looking at Ginny seriously, "but he's also hurt. I'll just take care of that scratch of his and let him rest here. In the morning, we'll find out what happened and why he's here. Now," she said, her expression softening, "go back to bed." Ginny sighed, but grudgingly began walking back up to her room, muttering her displeasure the entire way.

* * *

Draco was still cold... And his head hurt. Badly. He felt dizzy, and his whole body ached. He faintly heard rain, the occasional roll of thunder, but he wasn't in it anymore. On the contrary, he was on a rather fluffy, lumpy couch, covered with a blanket that didn't quite cover his feet. He moaned softly in pain and reached up to his cheek, feeling for the injury inflicted by Lucius, but it was gone. Finally, hearing voices that seemed to be coming from the other side of a wall, he opened his eyes. He wasn't somewhere he recognized... The room was a sea of clutter, stacks of dusty, worn books stacked haphazardly around the walls. There were baskets full of flowers, and a whole mess of random things strewn about. He wouldn't have expected the inside of the Weasleys' house to look any other way... Why Potter enjoyed it so much, he had no idea.

He reminded himself, though, that he owed the Weasleys a debt of gratitude right about then. He didn't remember anything after Ginny had opened the door, but they hadn't thrown him out, and that was more than he deserved. Even he knew that. Someone had also taken the time to heal his cheek, which surprised him greatly. It was still sore, but that was much better than the condition it had been in before. His head throbbed painfully when he sat up and it certainly didn't help his aching body, but he was growing tired of sitting there, lost in his own thoughts. He wanted to know why the Weasleys had been so kind to him, when he'd never given them any reason to. So, he forced himself to his feet, though his legs seemed reluctant to support him.

"I'm under strict orders from Molly to tell you not to get up." Arthur said, leaning against the wall that separated the kitchen from the living room. Draco sat down slowly, looking at the ground rather than at Arthur.

"Right." He said, nodding, "Okay." He cleared his throat awkwardly before continuing. "Thank you for letting me stay here," He said, though this was all still very weird and humiliating for him, "I'll be out of your hair by the end of the day." Arthur shook his head.

"It's not a problem," He assured, "It's just a bit odd considering we don't know why you're here. And rest assured, Molly won't be letting you go anywhere until she says you're fine." Draco sighed; why, he wondered, why were they being so kind to him? He'd never been anything less than nasty to their family...

"Alright then." He said, "Well um... Thanks." Arthur nodded, then left the room. The chatter he'd heard upon waking had ceased while they talked, and he sighed as his stomach gave a loud growl. He looked over at the table beside the couch, discovering that there was two slices of toast with jam and an apple sliced into wedges. He reached over and started eating, beginning to wonder what time it was. The house seemed to be quiet, so it was probably late in the evening... Which would mean he'd slept all day. He sighed as he continued eating, wondering just how long he'd be here. Hopefully, he wouldn't run into Ron or Ginny... Somehow, he doubted they'd be as kind as their parents, and with good reason. He didn't even know if Potter was there, but he hoped not. Potter was the last person he wanted to run into with his current situation.

After he finished eating, he laid back down, figuring he might as well try to sleep some more. Hopefully, he wouldn't sleep the entire day away this time... Considering he'd just woken up, it took some effort to get to sleep, but he managed it eventually.

* * *

Harry was having trouble falling asleep that night; perhaps it was because he was wondering what the Dursleys were thinking about him leaving, or perhaps it was because he doubted anyone believed him when he said his injuries came from a fight with his cousin. Or perhaps it was pain from a particularly severe 'injury' attained the day before Ron and Mr. Weasley came to get him... While all those things were factors, Harry thought it was mostly due to sleeping under the same roof as his sworn enemy, who Harry believed was likely a Death Eater.

He eventually managed to fall asleep after laying in bed for about an hour and a half, but he slept lightly, uneasily. As a result, he ended up waking up after about two hours. That time, he simply gave up on sleeping and figured he might as well just get up; it would be morning in a few hours anyways, right? He headed into the bathroom so he could change and brush his teeth. When he got there, he took off his shirt and sighed as he looked in the mirror. He ran his hand over his chest softly, tracing over the deep cuts spelling out the word 'freak' on his chest.

* * *

Draco was sleeping lightly, much like Harry, when he was woken by a quiet sound just above him. He yawned widely as he sat up, hearing quiet sounds coming from whatever room was above him. Knowing sleep was pretty much hopeless at that point, he got up. He was feeling a bit more stable on his feet by then, and his head was no longer throbbing, but had settled into a dull pain in his temples. He ignored the pain, heading upstairs and following the sounds until he found the source. Apparantly, Potter was having trouble sleeping too...

He approached the open bathroom door with sharp words on the tip of his tongue, about how Potter needed to learn to keep it down when others were sleeping, mostly. "Oi, Potter-" He started once he was close enough; he stopped immediately, though, upon catching sight of the boy's reflection in the mirror. The word 'freak' stuck out sharply in red on his chest, and his arms and torso were covered in bruises... Draco had never seen him in such a condition, and it didn't take a genius to guess how he'd come by those injuries. The bruises could have come from anywhere, but not many people would carve the word 'freak' into his chest. The lines were rugged, uneven, and seemed quite deep. Clearly not done with magic. Draco honestly didn't know what to do... He realized though, that Harry had been staring at him in round-eyed horror while he stood there in stunned silence. Draco cleared his throat quietly and walked the final few feet into the bathroom, and Harry didn't move. "That's going to scar if you don't take care of it." Draco informed awkwardly, but seriously. Harry nodded slowly.

"Yeah, well... I-I can't show it to anyone to fix." He said, shrugging, "And I can't use magic outside of school. Why do you care?" Draco shrugged indifferently, though Harry couldn't seem to see him the same as usual. After all, he'd never seen him this way; his shirt was stained with blood, for one thing, and his hair was hanging to his ears and in his face, slightly wavy and curling at the ends.

"I don't," Draco shrugged, "I just suppose I owe you a favor... Sort of." He looked at the ground, hating to actually admit this. "You lot could've left me out in the rain, but you didn't. So... Don't get a swelled head, Potter, this is just so I don't owe you anything. Harry scoffed.

"Well, I wasn't involved in the decision." He said, "So you don't owe me anything. Besides, you're underage yourself, you can't use magic." Draco rolled his eyes.

"Yeah well, I apparated here and I'm not in any trouble just yet." He said; then, a thought occurred to him. In the past, he could get away with a lot of rule breaking because he was part of such a prestigious family. Now though, he couldn't really get away with things like that... Word would have spread extremely quickly that he'd been disowned. So, it looked like he couldn't use magic outside of school either. "Well, anyways, I'm sure they have something for it around here." Draco said, beginning to look through the cabinets. He found a cream that, according to the label, would heal the wounds with no scarring. "Now hold still." He said, unscrewing the top, "Like I said, I don't want to owe you anything after this." Harry nodded slowly; it seemed that neither of the two boys had considered the fact that Harry could probably be doing this himself. "Oh, it might hurt." Draco added as he squeezed some of the cream onto his finger. He began tracing the cream over the thin, ragged wounds, and Harry winced and sucked in a breath of air through his teeth. He gripped the sides of his pants while Draco continued, the wounds slowly beginning to vanish in the wake of Draco's touch. Draco focused on his task, not looking up at Harry, not pausing to realize how much closer their bodies were thanks to this. It wasn't long before his chest was smooth and clear of injuries again. Harry let out a breath of relief as the pain was fading, smiling a bit as he looked at his reflection. Draco, on the other hand, had just realized that his face was, at the most, 6 inches from Harry's chest and his hand was on the boy's waist. Fighting down a blush that threatened to rise to his cheeks, he backed away quickly and busied himself with putting the cap back on the tube of cream.

"Thanks, Malfoy." Harry said, a bit awkwardly. After all, he did feel that he should thank Draco for the help, though he reminded himself that he didn't hate the boy any less because of this. Though, his mind still found it hard to believe that the boy standing in front of him was Draco Malfoy... He was unkempt, to say the least, and unless Harry was mistaken, there was color in his cheeks. He couldn't just forget all the time Draco had spent making Harry's life as difficult as possible, though, and as he thought of that, he found his inner conflict lessening. It was just the same old Malfoy, nothing had really changed.

"Don't mention it." Draco said, putting the cream back before looking back up at Harry, "I'm going to head back to bed, then. Don't come crying to me later about needing help, got it? I'm not inclined to do you any more favors." Draco started out of the bathroom, looking back at Harry and forcefully remembering that he hated him. With a passion. That was stupid, saintly, self-centered Potter. He nodded to himself as he walked back downstairs to the couch, glaring at the ceiling as he thought about all the reasons he hated Potter. Even so, he couldn't help but feel bad for the boy... It had to have hurt to have things carved into your skin like that, and Draco could sympathize a bit with the bruises. He fell asleep soon, though, his mind in a bit of a blur of confusing thoughts.


End file.
